


House of Shards

by Lordbasileus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, House of Cards Trilogy (UK)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, F/M, Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-20 23:48:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13728594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lordbasileus/pseuds/Lordbasileus
Summary: Nothing lasts forever! The battered Saviour of the Wizarding world returns home. His exile changed him and not exactly for the better.





	1. The Prodigal Son Return

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter characters, books etc. in any way... J. K. Rowling does and I simply use her world for a bit of storytelling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter characters, books etc. in any way... J. K. Rowling does and I simply use her world for a bit of storytelling.

_Lo' behold! The Isle of Avalon. The answer to all our hopes and dreams. The land of Emerald stretches before me. Many kings have shed blood for the briefest glimpse of it. I however Am not a king. Stand on its fertile shore, Stranger, and watch it be forgotten._

_-Baubles of the Blind-_

Nothing lasts forever. Even the seamlessly unbreakable tyranny is swept away by the ceaseless and never aging time and replaced with something else. I stress the word 'something' in my statement for it does not mean that the ways of conduct in the political arena will change for the better simply because someone believes he has the will or the right to try.

Too often is the mob that wrestled away the shackles of power from a terrible monster that wielded them encouraged to destroy everything that the creature used to drain some blood. Too often people dismantle that which was before and plunge the country into new darkness.

There is a new age coming. Not many can recognize the shivers of ominous anticipation. None of them can see the signs. Soon, very soon, we will be more vulnerable than ever before.

They should feel it in their bones. Their survival instinct should propel them to take up arms against this unknown fear. Instead, they will close their eyes, avert their heads and like thousands of lemmings run directly to the edge of a cliff.

You may ask how I know all this; where in my feverish mind I have stumbled across this information. Trust me then as I say that you cannot trust me. Know then that you will never know what the other truth is. The only version of it I can present to you is the one I believe to be the closest to my beliefs and knowledge.

What? You want to know my name? I cannot see how it could do any harm. Oh, do I see your lips twitching in a sudden recognition of my familiar features? Do I smile politely as your eyes widen when you hear my bitter words? You would not expect me to say them, yet I do, but not out loud, of course. Is my scar enough? The lightning bolt-like reminder of who I used to be. You must know by now.

Have it your way! Nowadays, I go by Lord Harry, of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter, and as of today your representative in the Wizengamot.

* * *

 

It is just another bleak day on our beloved isle. Few streets from the neo-gothic beauty of the Westminster stands an old, shabby-looking building. The occasional pedestrian may wonder, why no one cares to remove this monstrosity from the times long past- as it clearly defies every single statute of the realm concerning safety and hygiene regulations. Someone should just tear it down.

We wizards, the others, the abnormally gifted, however you may call us, flock to that construction every day as if it were a center of the universe. To Muggle eye it may seem that we simply want to make a call from an old red telephone booth at the end of that very familiar street. Those eyes are deceiving you. Who uses them anymore?

We defend ourselves by creating these small ruses and hiding places. Maybe it is something about the plain sight that makes a statement about my people. We are always just one illusion away from a catastrophe that would endanger our very lives. It is a mistake that has to be addressed. You will need someone from Wizengamot, a man with political clouts and pockets full favours and money if you want to make sense of all of this.

Me? I am nobody. The former hero and Saviour of the Wizarding world…Thanks to our beloved media I can finally move freely, for now.

Was there a prophecy about me? What did the papers do? They printed out rumours, lots of them. There once was Harry Potter a hero. He is no more. Popularity ebbs away as fast as the feeble paper surrenders to the rot. Maybe it is the memories of something that waste away first.

I played virtually every role that is available: frightened child, angry teenager, lovesick idiot, Undesirable no.1 etc. and that was a hell of a journey.

There is no denying. My position is extremely fragile at the moment and you must forgive me that.

You may meet a lot of familiar faces in the newly refurbished hall of our hallowed Ministry. Most of them old schoolmates, hanger ons or some such.

"Look what cat dragged in from the outside! Potty, Potty why in the hell have you come back?"  

Draco Malfoy, how easily people forget. How easily they can change should proper incentive present itself. If he is doing this after all these years I can be certain that much had not changed in Malfoy Manor. It is actually a pity for it presents only less challenge for man like me. No, there are no men like me.

"Lord Malfoy, how pleasant to see your face after all these long years and seeing that your contribution to conversation is still as interesting as it was back then." I give the bastard a cheeky smile. It is highly improper to show one's emotions and I can clearly see how the House of Malfoy managed to fall so low. The debt is still owed to me.

"I would spend some more time in your company, but the time is money and I leave you with my condolences to your mother- your father's death must have been a tragedy for her. You may mention to her that I am staying in our ancestral home. I would spend more time catching up with you, but Snetiment never was one of my strengths." I tap the brim of my hat with a cane and leave gaping Malfoy heir behind me. It wouldn't be Draco though, should he not fire last one on me when I am not facing him.

His hissing sounds slightly akin to: "Have a nice day beggar." The cane may or may not have a silver snake head at the top. What a coincidence.

As I hinted, the man has no bottom and no manners. Those who know the higher society will tire quickly from his angry and petty outbursts. I am member of no society, for I believe there is no such thing.

Oh, I see. You are a bit interested in my current financial situation. Well, it is certainly not desperate. Otherwise, how would I afford these silk robes and dragon leather boots? It is not that good either. Why else would someone like me become a politician? You heard how this came to be? You knew that Potters were well off? I guess I cannot avoid it. You are my voters after all and I have to repay you the favour, in a way.

There is some bitterness inside of me. Revenge? No, no... I just want to offer my years of experience and knowledge in magical disciplines to serve my country. I admit that the post brings some pleasures, but I am not a man who needs, how did she put it, blonde bimbos to be satisfied. I hold no grudges against these petty people; their only crime is, after all, being a nice herd of docile sheep, and those are everywhere. Maybe there is still a bit of anger speaking.

And here they come- old lions, witty thieves, rugged brutes and all of them are very eager to get the Shacklebolt's place. How long will it take? The man was practically a hero that got us out of slump. He rode the wave of nausea that followed the post war discoveries of pureblood atrocities. Now, he is leaving the office with nearly a hundred percent approval rates. Generalissimo would be proud.

The Daily Prophet hails him as someone who has always listened to people. Someone, who looked out for them and made their lives easier and safer. Someone, who passed the legislature to abolish the hereditary status of the Wizengamot membership. The man, who stood firmly and helped when Harry Potter decided to run away.

My supposed retreat was, of course, something they could have expected- one does not simply win the war and then launch himself into work without taking a short break. I admit that seven years is no short time, but I did not spend them frolicking and sleeping. No, I have laid the seeds of knowledge that will be ripe one day. Maybe soon, maybe in a few years' time, but thing is that they will be; of that I am absolutely certain.

It is a gasp of surprise that greets me in the hall; few scorning remarks are sent my way. It is nothing I cannot endure. Some of them are whispering and pointing fingers, how lovely to know that some things simply do not change. I just brushed away hair on my forehead to make the old scar visible.

"My lords and ladies, I give you the Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt." There is a roar of approval and wave of polite clapping. I decided to sit next to Susan Bones. She changed a great deal since I've seen her last. She awards me with a polite smile, everything for the former hero of the Wizarding world.

The tall black man stands up and starts his carefully written speech. How can we say no to the last farewell?

"Everyone knows that I never wanted to become a politician. I have always thought myself rather man of action than the one who has to plan the action, get the seal of approval and writ of arrest. This approach, however, helped me to rebuild the British Wizarding government and our world in the eight years I spent in my position." Another round of applause- booming, rising, alive. Shacklebolt waited a moment and then cut the sound with his hand- silence fell nearly immediately.

"We have changed the way of politics: no longer it a shabby dealing full of corruption and embezzlement. We have not only set limit to the politician's powers by abolition of hereditary Wizengamot, but also made lords and ladies criminally accountable for any crime they commit. I can honestly say that we are all equal." Nice lines, deep voice to carry them across; the man had probably found himself. It is shame to let him leave. Well, certainly shame for some.

"We have built a solid economy and our coffers are overflowing with wealth. Our merchants and craftsmen are well received throughout the world. Anti-discrimination laws we have passed through this chamber changed the status of many Muggleborns who are no longer leaving because of the contempt that the pure-blooded society held for them. I want to thank you all for your help, votes and continuous support. I for one am looking forward to see our new two-party system at work." He paused a bit.

"My decision to leave is personal. I have given my best years of my life to this nation and time has come to be a bit selfish and spend some time with my family. I want to thank Arthur Weasley- my Head of Exchequer for his friendship and wonderful dealing with finances, my friend Ahvar Patil for excellent work and many friendships he acquired as our Foreign Department Head. Of course there are many others, many others to be remembered, and those who work for the Wizarding world- Aurors, Unspeakables, Floo operators, and teachers just to name few. I thank you and salute to the work you have done." The man is not smug. He is victorious. Hush! He continues!

"Talking about teachers, it is through their enthusiasm and determination that we were able to reform our greatest educational institution- the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It took all our efforts, but I can clearly say that our students have never enjoyed so much freedom and equality in an environment that is not abusive, but supports spirit and creativity. May our nation grow many great minds and discover many wonders in realm of magic. Thank you that would be all." He waved and smiled, showing his white teeth to the applauding crowd. Nearly everyone stood up to honour the leaving Minister. Time for cordiality ended. It is time for me to ready for battle.

"Order! Order!" shouts the highly vexed Chief Warlock and stomps with his gavel. " I want to remind Rgt. Hon. Lords and Ladies not to stray from the debate and debase themselves to petty squabbling that has nothing to do with debate as well as unnecessary insults. That goes especially to you lady Robbards! Order!" I must admit that I never understood Dumbledore's insistence on me having my childhood intact. These people are clearly enjoying themselves. On the other hand, it is not that hard to stand out- one simply has to behave like an adult.

"All members of the House will return to their seats or I'll call Aurors to maintain order!" Well, it seemed that Chief Warlock was really losing his temper. However, the overgrown kids had returned to their seats and there were no further disruptions.

"We shall now put our three candidates under Wizegamot's vote. Those in favour of John Dawlish?" There is silence. I must wonder how many votes would these Auror lackeys get should Amelia Bones still be amongst the living. No one is interested in that old lion. Just few sorely lone hands had gone up. This is not the right way. I can hear the Chief Warlock proclaiming that 'majority' has not been reached and we will vote for another candidate.

"Those in favour of Draco Malfoy," the sheer impossibility of this choice nearly makes me chuckle. Who would vote for the twit? Well, it turns out that according to the old pureblood rule of sticking together, there is quite a few.

"Draco Malfoy receives forty-four votes, no majority." That was quite close. Out of one hundred and one that is what I call a bit of luck. It seems that Kingsley wasn't so successful in his purges.

"All those in favour of Arthur Weasley as the Minister for Magic." Middle ground, pureblood and recently alleviated upstart without any desire but to rule in favour of people. It makes my nose bleed. Visiting Florence has its advantages but the discovery of the Society is the most significant one of them. You didn't think I spent my years in exile moping and beating myself? Oh, you did. Well, they have no idea what they are going to deal with. Many voters of my constituency didn't believe that it was I, even when I showed them the scar.

The loss of my family´s ancient seat and the manner of my departure all those years ago left them a bit suspicious about my own mental health. I must admit that my natural charm as well as my rousing speech left them excited. The result was a premature end of political career for the young Lord Longbottom as well as quite a hefty bill for various alcoholic beverages I purchased.

I can quite imagine your surprise when I say that it was Arthur Weasley who invited me back. Well, who else can work so skillfully with state's money if not a careful thief? They certainly make the best financiers.

"Arthur Weasley receives forty-seven votes, no majority."

"Gentlemen and Ladies, as the first vote failed to produce a clear winner we shall vote again. I stress the importance of the vote. We cannot continue until the next Minister is voted in. Thank you." It seems that Chief Warlock wants to be somewhere else. Maybe at Madame Precious- the most famous brothel in Diagon Alley, says my informant. You did not think that I would come to this den of snakes without one? Oh, I know them all and as being a Potter is nowadays equal to dimwit. I will make them eat their words and deeds. All in due time, Arthur said that he had a job for me. We will see.

I suppose it comes as no big surprise that Arthur wins the next vote. My knees are trembling when I think about the long reign of terror that scamp Draco Malfoy would bring.

Yes, it is not good to underestimate any of your opponents, but just thinking about the blond ponce is giving him enough credit. It takes seventy-three long hours for Weasley to emerge the victor, for now. It is a bare majority. Parkinson was clearly paid off. I need my nap, but first I stand up to congratulate the new Interim Minister, holding my hand behind my back. How many knives are in human smile?

* * *

 

It is time to face the same old music. They are waiting for me in the Ministry lobby and I am not very keen to talk, but still- it is a part of my job. The sacrifices I make…

They want an interview with the old Harry Potter. Terribly sorry, I have to inform you that the fellow is gone.

"Do you have anything to say, Lord Potter? Are you here to stir the pot of our stale politics? How do you feel, returning to the country that had ridiculed you and to people that robbed you? Are you angry? Vindictive? Forgiving?" I smile on my favourite blonde reporter; gosh that woman looks akin to a character from American noir stories. I smile.

"Are you hoping to get a place in the new government? Any promises from the new Minister? Do you believe you are the most qualified to get one after your abandonment of your people?" Eternally digging for the right kind of information; that is what journalists usually do. Leaving out the little fact that most of the vitriol was born out of the corners of her wicked mind.. My reply must be just as nonsensical as the times we live in.

"Come, come Rita. You may very well think that; I couldn't possibly comment."

They laugh. Good, I like merry people, they tend not to use their brains at the moment of giggling and ask fewer questions.

The bloom has ended, the rot sets in and the clock is ticking.

What's next? Oh, I thought you knew.

Well, it’s about the time to put a bit of a stick about.


	2. A Very Careful Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter characters, books etc. in any way... J. K. Rowling does and I simply use her world for a bit of storytelling.  
> Thank you for kudos.

Somewhere in Germany a man is having his last glass of wine at the end of what seems to be an uneventful day. It is already dark outside and he has to hurry if he wants to be able to wake up early tomorrow. December welcomes him with a terribly cold weather. He simply murmurs a short incantation and delightes at the pleasant warmth that courses through him.

He has to have a cigarette. Feeble noodle of smoke slowly rises to the light of the street lamp above him. Everything sleeps as the snowy fairy land was moves its translucent soldiers- the snowflakes through the air. Moving, ye so perfectly dead. There is something unnerving about all that stillness. He cannot grasp it. Hendelstrasse is not one of those busy streets you can see in crowded metropolises around the world, but it isn't a little village road in the middle of nowhere either. He therefore decides to do what any sane wizard scenting danger would do. He tries to apparate.

His attempt is unsuccessful, thanks to an invisible solid barrier which prevents him from leaving the place. The feeling is more akin to a growing, unavoidable pressure that causes his magic to choke, rather than some invisible wall hanging in the air. The willow wand he holds in his hand was emits a soft bluish glow as he waves it through the air in desperate need to discover the disturbance. A jolt of panic shoots through him. He swears loudly and whispers:"Nox." He is in desperate need to actually see the street. He needed darkness. Bright electric lights of the lamps flicker wildly, but don't go out.  
"Scheisse." He swears loudly- something is wrong.

"Indeed, Herr Schuler. I hope you enjoyed your evening and your drink." A young man walks into the light. His long coat is covered by layer of snow  
and his vibrantly green eyes shine through the shadows as he searches for the man ́s face. "You! You have raised the anti-apparition wards." It is not a question.

"Yes, my friend. I believe you are very interested about the reason for this unusual visit. There are no wards though. I simply needed my wand." The old wizard in front of him wavers slightly as if it is difficult for him to keep balance. His opponent has head full of untameable hair and a devil's grin. Perhaps he is nothing more than a drunken mind ́s reflection upon ice and snow. His hands feel heavy and his heart thunders mile a minute.

"I want information, of course. What else would I seek? You should know my name." There is no curiosity, only flat direct answer to his question.  
"I've never seen you before, young man. What is happening to me?" He is lying, of course.  
"That would be your drink or rather something I used to enhance it a bit." There is a pregnant pause.  
"You have poisoned me?" Schuler's wand falls down and is left lying in the snow. A terrible numbness overcomes him. His legs start to wobble a bit. His poisoner catches him just a second before he could hit frozen ground.  
"What information could I possibly give you?"  
"No, it doesn't work that way, Heinrich. Shouldn't you recognize me by now, or have you actually gone senile? You know what I need. You on the other  
hand, have a very limited choice. Let us settle for relatively painless death, if you provide me with the information I seek."  
"I am just lowly Ministerial worker and I have wife and..." He is cut off by mirthless laughter and everything goes blurry as the familiar tug behind his navel spirits him away.

He lands painfully on hard floor and feels his ankle give way. His stomach is convulsing with fervour and causes him terrible pain. His captor stands only a few feet away, looking intently at his glowing pocket watch.  
"You are dying Heinrich. Surely you must have a bit of conscience inside of you? No? Why am I not surprised? Lumos!" A strong wave of light flickers through the immense space they find themselves in, exposing dreadful grins of hundreds of gargoyles. They seem to be inside a cathedral, one of the buildings Muggles build to worship their god. The light fades as quickly as it came and is replaced by the soft beams of Luna.

"What was the poison? What was it, dammit?" The figure in the shadows doesn ́t answer. He felt another flash of pain and some liquid trickled down his face. He tried to wipe it off.  
"So many visitors seek repentance and forgiveness. So many are terrified of these stone monsters." His kidnapper waves around to accentuate the number of hideous statues.  
"I don't think that there have ever been two greater monsters in need of relief in these walls. I will ask again Heinrich. Are you willing to tell me where Skersog Skyellyg is?" The poisoned man chortles. His next words are spoken with difficulty.  
"Do you really expect me to divulge such information to you, Potter? I am already dead, someone just has to tell my brain. I don't need to spend my eternity in torture." The only thing visible is a flash of white teeth from the dark corner where his murderer stands.  
"I will find him, Heinrich. You may as well tell me and avoid a very long and painful death." You see, I told you, they always know. Even the absolute idiots understand- you simply cannot threaten a man who is not afraid of death.  
"The poison? What was it?" Schuler asks, cementing the fact that he is determined to show no fear. You do not ask your killer how sharp the blade was. Do you?  
"Would that knowledge sway your decision?"  
"Not in the least, I think it is a pleasure of every potion master to know what caused us to meet our premature end." They are unsettling sort, these  
potion makers.  
"Then tell me and I am willing to let you waste away in this masochistic display. I will give the name of the potion as well."  
"You have grown, Potter. You give cruelty and pain easily. You truly are Skyerson ́s masterpiece."  
"You will remain silent!" The man continues undeterred.  
"Yes, from goody two shoes and hero of the fucking Light into a murderer. We will win in the end. You cannot run from yourself, Princess." The only answer to his taunt is a silent crack of apparition. Potter is long gone.

Heinrich will not pray. He had forgotten the words over the long years. The poison must have been Moonlight ́s Scream. Very dangerous. He has about three more hours of convulsion and vomiting ahead of him. Following that a trauma will come and some serious hallucinations usually follow. He could nearly believe the Potter boy. What waits for the monsters, but the most gruesome end? He will likely piss himself very soon. All life is just dirty sweat, waste and blood. Skyellyg will take revenge for him. Silvery tears falling out of his eyes are just fake reminder of the end, which is as pitiful as one can be.

* * *

 

"Master you have a Floo call from the Ministry." Yes, I do not deny that keeping Kreacher as my house elf may seem a bit off, but take it from my point of view- money is tight and I can barely maintain Grimmauld Place up and running as a proper household. I raise my wand and start swishing around. The magical methods of cleaning are neat and fast. Piles of clothes wrap themselves around me and I feel slightly better. This is something I refuse to let my little knife-charge leading friend with big ears to help me with. It must have something to do with the fact that even after all those years since I entered the Wizarding World I am still excited to see things that only magic can do. Who would ever go Muggle?

When I arrive downstairs you can spot big and smiling face of Arthur Weasley, pardon the Minister, hovering in the roaring fireplace. How I detest the man. Reminds me of the Emperor's favourite horse- you know the one that was made a senator. His smile is broad and warm.  
"Sir, how nice of you to floo by; how can I help you?" I act surprised, which I assume would be a natural reaction to such an important visit. Naturally, I expected something like it.

"Harry, stop with this sir business. Can I come through? It wouldn't be prudent for my employees to see me on my knees this early." I am quite sure that he is winking as if all this was some kind of private joke. I wish him good buggering.  
"Of course...Arthur," I pronounce his name with slight distaste. I wonder if he has noticed. I step aside, no need to start a day by being knocked down by the leader of magical community. He exits the fireplace without any stumble. Can you remember how long it took me? It seems that someone forgot to tell me the basics of magical travel, one cannot think badly of Hagrid so I'll just let it go.  
"Can I offer you something, Arthur?" He must be deaf not to hear the false politeness in my voice. I didn't't even have to train for this. I despise lying and treachery, but I must hold. Yes, as one old man said: for the Greater Good, the ephemeral thing that makes any action inherently good and right.

"A cup of coffee would be great," he beams. Somehow, I just cannot imagine the former muggle-loving wacko having his teeth magically changed. I guess I missed a lot and if there was an ounce of humour left in my body I would laugh. White smile for the audience.  
I turn to my ever-vigilant house elf.

"Kreacher, prepare one coffee for the guest and one tea with milk as usual for me." I turn to the smaller wizard and motion to the plush armchairs in the living room, perhaps one of the last remnants and reminders of the fall of Noble and Ancient House of Black.  
"Harry," he starts talking very slowly as if weighting every single word," I was delighted when I discovered that you have returned. This whole mess with Ginny was... unfortunate." Man looks uncomfortable, but he is at least trying. Shame that in my book, trying counts for nothing. With past like mine one comes to appreciate the advantages of something real. Promises are nice, but what good comes from them?

A small silvery tray is suddenly hovering between us. A most surprising addition to the conversation I have to say.  
"Yes, but nothing can change that now Arthur. On the other hand, even if we cannot meet as the father and son," I cringe at the thought," Some good may come from any potential cooperation we conduct in the future.

"Observant as always Harry," I am not quite sure if it was meant as an insult since many things I've done in the past are calling for a review in my judgement.

"I have indeed come to offer you a job. The Department of Games and Magical Sports lacks..." I feel my blood simmer as I tune him out for a moment. I hope you will forgive me for this momentous pause. 

When I come back he still rambles on.

"...Madame Marbles has been doing a marvelous job so far but I think we need someone younger and bright to act as her Undersecretary." It is real. Trust me, I feel very angry about this. I was not born to polish someone's door handles, so that they can touch them without the fear of infection. He is actually offering me a poster boy position. No real power, very close to nothing.  
No, it is nothing! Well, I am Harry Potter after all. We shall see. Arthur waits for my answer. Spineless... I nod, what else is there to do? Honour may stay in the gutter.

"Capital, Harry, capital! I think the whole Ministerial Council shall be delighted at such good news." I smile and extend my hand. The man has the audacity to actually hug me! My body goes limp and I squash the urge to throw him off me. No sign of him stopping. I end awkwardly patting his back. My hands are empty. For now...

"What date am I to start?" I ask just before he enters the fireplace.  
"Tomorrow," the reply is clear and loud, "Your meeting with Madame Marbles is scheduled at 8 am, don't be late." What bothers me is not the dust he left on my Persian rug (handmade- purchased at Al Barrah- 1866- Elladora Black) but rather the air of assumption that I will do whatever he says. I really do not like people setting me up. Well, blood and toil can wait a bit; until I resolve my lack of finances.

"Kreacher?" I found it dangerous to let my mind wonder what my creepy house elf is up to when he is not completing any tasks issued by me. All of the few guests I have had the pleasure to entertain since my return are afraid of his strange appearance and even more so of his habit to apparate right behind person ́s back. One doesn't want to think about the long knife sliding between withered ribs, right to the vulnerable flesh.

"Prepare some sort of breakfast for me." I order firmly. It is something about our master-servant relationship I must keep. It is for the respect he gets from others of his kind. At least some do not remember that horrific hyphenated name of mine with utter contempt. The little creature probably enjoys the attention he gets from his peers.

"Right away, Master. Kreacher is honoured to serve the Ancient and Noble Houses of Potter and Black." I never knew what pleasure is hidden in these little things. As you are aware, I was brought up as a plebeian and had no chance to enjoy the fine side of life- culture, philosophy, politics and booz...alcohol. Why should I be ashamed of being someone of noble blood? Money will come and my veins are the key to that. Trust me I have a plan.

"Good morning Mr. Potter," a matronly witch with Roman nose greets me;" I am glad that you seem to be a punctual young man." I kiss the offered hand hoping that I won't have to wash my mouth later. She emits a girlish giggle.

"Oh, it seems that politeness is not foreign to you." I bow a bit, not too much- this is not the monarch, just another hurdle to jump over. She motions me to sit down and I patiently wait what she has to say.

"When Arthur spoke about the possibility of Ministry using you for some Ministerial job I wasn't sure how we all felt. We have a lot of work in here Mr. Potter and it often goes unrewarded. I was given a guarantee that you are a hard worker and diligent one too. However, a lot of people come with stunning qualifications and Hogwarts diploma acquired before the education reform. to mirror Muggle higher education is simply not enough." I hate to ask something so simple, but I do it anyway. It is better to seem like a fool than to actually be one.  
"So I will be needing documents to prove that I am not without education? Minister didn't mention anything about it." Her trimmed eyebrows lift up a bit.

"Mr. Potter I want to make one thing explicitly clear. This administration is fighting to root out nepotism and favoritism, it would not be prudent to employ someone..." her eyes focus on my scar, "just for his fame or reject him because of defamation. I need the proof that you are able to use Ministry approved higher level of spells." Are you asking me if I have been expecting something like this? Of course I have. No one knows cost of certain services and things better than I.

"Then I am really glad ma'am that I have prepared myself. I take this offer very seriously." I use my most eager face. Yes, it is a bit of an exaggeration but how else could anyone be happy to stay in such a ridiculous position and be content? I take out my papers and hand them over.

"Are these the originals?" she asks.  
"No, all of them are just copies." She cannot hope to get them; they are resting far away from this place, where they shall remain forever. She just nods in understanding.

"I see that you have passed an Advanced Arithmancy and Complete Runes courses, and under tutorship of Skersog Skyellyg no less." She sounds surprised.

"Yes ma'am, I hope some of his controversial philosophic and political views are not a problem for you?" The woman frowns a little, but you can see underlying mask of admiration.

"You were also awarded the Grand Distinction at Supreme Istituto Magic a Venezia?"  
"Yes, Master Skyellyg is one of their most notable figures and as you can see I obtained high marks in all my subjects." "I will floo Direttore Primo Riviera- just to confirm the data you have provided. It is, of course, a standard procedure. "Of course," I mutter and smile at the lady.

"This is most impressive Mr. Potter," she exclaims as she holds out one of the blue papers," Signor Tomassino writes about your work at Aerial Dockyards with admiration, which is something very uncommon for such unbiased scholar. Are you sure you want to work within administrative? The Ministry has a great need for capable engineers. As you well know our transportation technologies are a bit behind the rest of Europe and such an addition to the team would..." I stop her rant immediately.  
"No ma'am, I want to work for the government of this glorious country."

"Oh, well then, such credentials mean that I have no other choice but to employ you. You seem to be a man of talent Mr. Potter and I am grateful for that. I simply cannot stand incompetence. Come with me and I will show you your office and then you will have the time to complete the paperwork." Yes, the necessary bureaucracy for the restless. How slow and impractical. One of the reasons that lower levels of the departments cannot generate anything brilliant or even remotely interesting and innovative. You have to guide them like a sheep. No wonder when they are drowning in the volumes of red tape. I am finish all the formalities few minutes later.

"Everything appears to be in order Mr. Potter. I am looking forward to working with you. Here this is the first project we were given. Good luck."

I inspect the suitcase with special envelopes charmed to protect the content. You just brush the opening and whisper your name and voilà you can read!

Six hours later and my thorough examination of the facts is over. The whole document had been composed by someone who had only marginal knowledge of organizational issues and challenges this project presents. According to this unbelievable, seven hundred pages long, monstrosity the International broom racing stadium and League are to be established for the Ministry's money without it being able to enforce the usual sporting and Muggle protection rules. These are expenses good for nothing else than corruption and painful, long-winded drivel to boot. I put down my glasses and rub my sore eyes. "Lumos," my lips are completely dry.

You see, I discovered this workaholic streak at the beginning of my Italian studies and when I plunge myself into a task of any kind the only thing I am able to think of is its completion. Study of Arithmancy helps with logic, but the deeper you get into it, the sooner you will see everything like one great equation, a puzzle you need to solve before you embark any further.

  
The faint glow of my wand is not enough to cover the entire office, but I don't need that since I am about to leave. "Protect!" I order and point my wand at the door lock. Boring office day is over. I am perhaps the last employee still in the building. Everyone is back at their cosy little homes. The most important task of the day is still ahead of me.

A grandiose 'HALL OF RECORDS' sign greets me and I visualize the door being unlocked. Well, I guess nobody can expect Alohomora, although silent, to open any room containing high security information. Three circles, quick swish and very short Swedish incantation are a different thing altogether. It seems that the matrix of the lock can be easily deciphered. Click is certainly a good sign. I open the metal steel imbued with magic repelling rods- standard procedure.  
I swiftly skim the registers- names under P. Oh, here we go.

 _Harry James Potter-Black_  
_Father: James Potter- Pureblood_  
_Mother: Lillian Potter, née Evans-Muggleborn_  
_Societal status: Nobleman by inheritance and by half of his blood, title revoked by 2003 Equality Act_  
_Blood status: Half-blood_  
_Personal status: Single- no serious acquaintances_  
_Education: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_  
_Political status: Member of Wizengamot, Independent_  
_Lord Potter is person often described as controversial_... I skim the rest of the page. There is nothing really interesting, even for you.

His mental health is in question, prone to the bouts of anger...The same old slander. You don't believe it do you? Of course not, that would be incredibly silly. Bouts of anger, as if...

Underachiever with a low self-esteem, this view is supported by the leading Mind Healers as well as by his long-time acquaintance that will remain anonymous for the safety purposes. His behaviour during the purity assault court process also suggests unwillingness to confront people who are or were close to him.

 _New Entry: Attended various courses in Italy, came in contact with few pureblood supremacists, full observation order- waiting for the approval by the DMLE_  
So it is true. They want me to stay and play by their rules. What fools! How can they hope to keep me cornered? Oh anger, you purifying emotion stay put! I shall have a use for you later. Good to know that Arthur is playing it safe. It would be foolish to assume otherwise. He is, after all, a very careful man.  
I close the file my friends. I close the file to forget, but not to forgive. I shall thank them for the rules. They will be easily bypassed. Now off with you then!  
I give a quick salute to the Auror guard who replies in similar manner and leave the Ministry through swirl of green flames.

* * *

 

I enter the Grimmauld Place kitchen and nearly make a double take over my loyal and completely batty house elf. The poor creature is acting erratic as if the precious caverns of his very sensitive ears were threatened by something so terrible that mere whisper of its existence would render them useless. I am right in a way.

"Master Harry, hurry," it screeches and use of my birth name gives me a definite proof that something is wrong.  
"We have a guest! Master cannot wear his working robes!" He ushers me upstairs where I am given some nice silk ones with family coats of arms entwined together. I am given a stern inspection and assuming that everything is fine I stumble down the stairs. I know that something is not right, but what to expect? I enter and there in my particularly favourite armchair, one of the few family heirlooms that Padfoot genuinely liked, sits one Hermione Granger.

"Kreacher, pray tell me," I say with amused and calm expression, "What was the order I have given you, concerning visits?"

"Master forbids any?" Inside I am livid. Have you noticed the soft voice and gentle reminder that I own the blasted house elf? I find it immensely stimulating to know the right buttons to push and even more to find some new ones. She had to do something to the House Elf. Aye, they may be powerful, but we wizards know our ways of controlling others. Even when said control is not desired at all.

"Then I somehow fail to understand how Miss Granger ended up..."  
"Secretary Granger if you want to be so formal Harry." I smile again. Two can always play this game. The blinding stone stone dangles on her neck. She confounded him.

"Then it is Undersecretary Potter-Black to you Madame." She frowns and bites her lip with suppressed frustration. It is obvious who was able to acquire nerves of steel. Anything that can help them to read you, anything that makes you predictable must go or be covered.

  
"Listen to me Harry Potter! You cannot treat your friends like this!" Her face is red as she shouts; I presume she has been restraining herself for quite some time.  
"You leave for seven years and when you finally show up you ignore us! Furthermore, I could have a warrant for your arrest drawn up! You treat this conscious little being poorly and..."

  
"Silencio," I believe that it was Ignatius the Great who invented the spell to shut his loud and crass wife, who was a Lothario in skirts and a source of constant embarrassment for the Great Master.  
"Department Head Granger, I am still by laws and customs of our land a noble lord. You are on my property and I ask you to leave at once, voluntarily. For the sake of our former friendship and for your own good, go home to your husband. I am tired and hungry and as you should know that is not the best combination. Concerning your warrant, you know you have no conclusive evidence.

She gasps softly as the strangling hand envelops her soft body. I know. Still a softie. 

“ You realise that itwould be my word against yours and though I am nearly bankrupt my blood still means more than your self-righteousness." She watches me with awe as if I suddenly grew two heads, her hands are trembling. The blood jab is probably getting to her. You know that generations of Potters died for this island? Lots of them were egoists and tyrants, but the majority of good men always prevailed.

"But Harry," I merely point at the door. She stands up and slowly walks to the entrance. Her jaw is firmly set and she is unusually quiet. This is Hermione, a voice of young boy from the past reminds me, she means no harm. She was your good friend.

Standing next to the fireplace I speak to her before she presses the door handle, my voice is soft and laced with sentiment I cannot fully suppress:" Granger, if you need to discuss anything work related, I will be more than happy to help. You know how much I have lost, mainly thanks to help you have given Ginny, but I will not let it interfere with my job. Have a nice day, Secretary, and tell Terry that I say hello." She is swallowed by the darkness created through magical reshuffling of the houses. One cannot risk discovery of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, not even in these peaceful times.

"Kreacher?" He immediately pops behind me.  
"Master wishes?"  
"We will drink tonight, together." He blinks and I observe with certain kind of dread as large tears start falling from his large eyes.  
"Master is most kind; Kreacher will have some Butterbeer and some firewhisky for Master." I nod gracefully. Tonight I shall drink away my scruples and sentiments, my only companion being the last shreds of sorrow and a scruffy old house elf.

* * *

Hermione Granger apparated as soon as she was outside, landing near International apparition spot. Small company was already waiting for her in magical variant of the cabinet chamber. She quickly undressed her heavy overcoat and sat down.

"Hermione, how went the visit of our mutual friend? Is he well?" Arthur's eyes are reflecting the fairy lights floating randomly in the space of the room. "Will he work with us?"

The bushy-haired Head of the Deparment for Environmental Problems and Magical Minorities grimaces a bit. The late sessions of the Department are always informal and amiable.

"I don't think so Arthur, he practically threw me out as soon as he returned. Gave me a good tongue-lashing too. He looked terribly tired and angry." She bit her lip. "There is something terrifying about him too as if he was carrying around some sort of power. His knowledge of laws seems to be more than sufficient. It seems that he acquired taste for blood purity..." There is a heavy sigh escaping the young woman.

"Madame Marbles what is your opinion?" Minister turns to the old lady who is sipping hot chocolate from her cup and leaves it hovering in the air as she sits more upright.

"I am not sure what to think about it. He works hard and any Chief would welcome such an employee, but I agree with Secretary Granger that there is something off about the boy. He insists on working for administration even though his skills could be utilized in more creative and much better paid jobs." She falls silent and reaches out for the abandoned cup.

"Yet, he wanted to have a seat here in any Department," says Arthur Weasley.  
"What? Did he tell you anything?" Ahvar Patil nearly screames, obviously outraged.  
"Not in so many words, but his posture told me he wants to get in badly."  
"That is a shame," rasps Davis- the new Head of Exchequer. His comment is met by series of snickers.

"Well, until he enters marital union he cannot even think about moving up. Our people may want modern government, but they still insist that those who govern them have a good sense of family. I would not be too much afraid in this case. Harry is a compassionate boy and since there is no love interest at the moment we may safely assume that we have plenty of time. DMLE will start with their investigation and we will see later. Am I correct, Director Savage?"  
"Absolutely Minister, Potter will be kept on a tight leash."

Hermione looks outraged for a moment, thwarting someone capable goes against everything she believes in, but to preserve the peace... She remains silent.

"Brilliant," The Minister smiles," Now to the more important and pressing matters." He turns to the Indian man. "Ahvar, I suppose we shall start with the Gringott's review of our financial situation and what their foreign branches think about the situation of our finances..."

* * *

 

If there is one maxim I have to stress in life as well as in politics it is "Trust no one!" and abide by it. It is not the paranoia as you may or may not think. It is the driving force that compels me, Harry Potter, to reach further and further in my aims without being hindered by incompetence or intrigues of others. My former Master was a bit too pureblood orientated, but his help was priceless. I need no more crash courses about behaviour or such simple things as dance. For example, the one I enjoy right now. Just imagine a grand Empire style building, full of important and unimportant people. Big business, politicians, grand families, foreigners- all of them are here tonight to celebrate the election of Arthur Weasley. I smile; you know that I cannot stand the man. He is a very sloppy liar who thinks that being swamped in sea of work makes me unable to stretch my wings.

Magic is incredible. Muggles have their filth and sweat, their technologies full of dust, but we... we have our fantasies. How else can an old cynic like me admire all of this? There is nothing more colourful than man's imagination, nor more dangerous.

"Lord Potter-Black, why are you not dancing? We must amend this!" I admit the title is a nice perk and rings well. I let the lady take me to the dangerous waters; sharks are represented by these young and older scheming creatures, clad into seductively winking frilly robes and floating in an endless sea of lace. After straightforward women of Venice, I think I can accept this different kind of entertainment. Be careful though, one must not forget his goal. No pleasure and no regret in the world will make me change my mind. I hope you know that.

"Susan, you should know that I am not overly fond of dancing." She laughs prettily and leads me to the place where we can swirl and speak with a shred of privacy.

"You know that you should be more receptive to the lady's advances, all that reservation doesn't fit the Boy-Who-Done-A-Runner." I sneer at her, not quite sure why it always earns me a playful swat, and trust me; no red-blooded male would willingly miss such a grievous attack inflicted upon him by the Bones heiress.  
"They should be richer, lovely lady. Then perhaps I could profess something for them. As it stands now, I've yet to see a true woman." She pouts with her adorable lips. It is rigidity that binds my blood so terribly eager to flood certain place and leave others, my brain for example.

"A relationship is not something I am looking for at the moment," I reply as usual. You may hear that my voice is not even trembling as I lie and I refuse to rub my nose or show any other sign that what comes out of my mouth are not my true intentions. You may think whatever you like.

She presses against me, all those delightful curves squishing into my frame. Dance music is slowing down. I would prefer something more classical with less amount of bodily contact. I need my wits about me.  
"You are very naughty Miss Bones," I admonish her with mock glare added for a good measure and wiggle my finger at her. She laughs heartily, squeezing my hand the whole time.

"And you, Mr. Potter, are not very honest with me." She leans her head to my ear. Is that sense of impending dread in my stomach?  
"Don't worry I won't tell." I feel my mind screaming. It is terrible, you know, the fact that someone has somehow managed to get it, even though it is one of the most obvious of my secrets.

"It brings me a great deal of comfort, Sue. Shall we dance some more?" I suggest and we once again glide over the surface of what seems to be an enchanted frozen lake. It gives the place a not very subtle reminder of the impeding winter. For a moment I allow my brain to shut off. Yes, I know you remember that this is always the precise minute when something bad happens. I wait for it, just like you.

Nothing, I just fly with pretty witch in my arms and don't think of tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, your reviews and opinions are very welcome.


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